Truth in Advertising
by Dollybigmomma
Summary: Edward Cullen is an executive in his father's advertising agency. He's an upstanding, hardworking geek extraordinaire women tend to overlook. However, during a Memorial Day vacation trip to a clothing-optional beach in Cancun with his brother, Emmett, nerds collide.
1. Chapter 1

**This little plot bunny started hopping around as a one-shot for VICTIMS OF HER OWN HILARITY, a weekly blog using pictures as inspiration for a quick writing exercise. The picture for this story is of a well-built tanned guy lying on a beach sunbathing in the nude. Over his face is a large pointy Mexican sombrero. He has another identical sombrero, but much smaller, covering his, um, package to keep it from burning and showing.**

**I have a BBA in Marketing and a BA in Advertising, so I'm fairly familiar with this industry, although my knowledge is a bit rusty given I've spent the past 20+ years raising kids instead of working. I'll do my best to keep it real, though I'm certainly no expert these days.**

**Let's see where the bunny leads us, shall we?**

**TRUTH IN ADVERTISING**

**By Dollybigmomma**

**Chapter 1: Emmett's Views on Optimizing Product Placement**

Damn, Cancun was hot, and this freaking beach was shit crowded. People were practically lying elbow to elbow out here. I looked over at my stupid little brother and snickered. Idiot.

Don't get me wrong, Edward was the best brother I could have hoped for, but sometimes he was totally clueless...case in point being his current state of blissfully-unaware repose.

We both worked for our father's advertising firm, me as the firm's lead attorney and Edward as the Creative Director for new accounts. It was funny he'd chosen to join the family business, since he had always been an impeccably honest man, and sometimes advertising was anything but honest. But Edward loved his job, as advertising was his passion, and he was good at it. Seriously, the guy could sell sand to an Arab. Right now, though, he was selling himself…short.

Like me, Edward was very fit, with a damn good body, produced by hours of exercise done competitively next to me at our corporate gym. Yeah, we were pretty good looking guys, if I did say so myself, and I did. Well, Edward would have been even better looking if he would get his stubborn ass some contacts and a new wardrobe, but he refused, claiming he saw no need, when he had a perfectly good pair of glasses and all the free hand-me-downs he could wear from Granddaddy Platt, complete with eau de mothballs as the feature scent. Unfortunately, that total package combined to make him look like a nerdy homeless hipster meets Irish Clark Kent. Not an attractive look on anybody, if you asked me.

Edward was also usually very astute when it came to intellectual things, and he was pretty handy overall, making him a fairly well-rounded guy in the brains department. However, one thing Edward did not have going for him was a good understanding of women and how they worked. I had tried to help him out with that, but he'd just shot me down, accusing me of being a Neanderthal and a womanizer. Hey, my motto was whatever worked, and it worked for me, because women ate that shit up when I laid it down. Just don't let our momma know I said that. She'd beat my ass. Esme Cullen was not someone you messed with.

No, the ladies didn't flock to Edward. He was painfully shy and awkward, with a bit of a stutter when flustered, so his experiences with women had been limited and mostly painful. He was really a great guy, though, so the ladies were truly missing out. Hey, he was related to me, so what could be bad?

Memorial Day weekend had rolled around, and we were due some time off, so we opted to use the long weekend and some free vouchers from a satisfied client for a quick vacation down in Mexico. This afternoon, we were hanging out on the beach, working on our tans. Edward said he'd wanted to nap while we lay out, so I'd convinced him, with great effort mind you, to go commando and discretely slip his shorts off while he cooked, so he wouldn't have any tan lines that would make his ass look like a pair of pasty pale honeydew melons. As long as you didn't show your junk on this beach, it was cool to toast your buns.

In Edward's infinite wisdom, he'd decided to use a couple of stupid sombreros he had bought off some kid selling them on the beach to cover his eyes, so his thick lenses wouldn't send lasers through his brain, and to cover his goods when he turned over. Considering we showered next to each other at the gym, I knew that, like me, my brother was seriously packing and had a lot to cover. He would have had the ladies swarming, despite his thick Coke-bottle-esque glasses, if they only knew what he had to offer. Yep, this was definitely an advertising opportunity. However, sitting here and staring at him now, I was convinced my brother truly was a dimwit and was blowing it. So to speak.

Edward obviously hadn't given this little exercise much thought. He had placed the large pointy hat over his face, and the small one over his junk. Talk about downplaying one's assets! Now, I suppose if he were only doing it to cover himself, the order worked fine. However, as the eleventh beach bunny walked by shaking her head and laughing, I couldn't help but sigh and palm my face. I was tempted to swap the hats for him, but yeah…no. Getting anywhere near another guy's junk wasn't going to happen, even a pathetic family member.

I couldn't resist anymore and flicked my ice cold Dos Equis at him, showering his midsection with frigid beer. When the cold liquid hit his sun-warmed stomach, he rolled away quickly, sombreros flying, swearing at the top of his lungs at the son of a bitch who had spilled their beer on him. What he didn't bargain for was rolling into the cute little brunette chick who had sat down next to him and had been eyeing him warily for the past twenty minutes. She was whiter than sugar on a powdered donut and looked to be about to piss herself when my naked brother rolled up against her, his free willy now looking for open water.

"What the fuck, Emmett!" he yelled at me when he saw me laughing around the mouth of my beer bottle.

"Don't look now, Edward, but I think she's about to blow," I cackled just as the little brunette dumped her drink over his head, her cheeks bright pink with embarrassment at having my brother shove his bare ass into her leg, unintentionally of course. He pulled his glasses off and shook his head, trying to get the chocolate milk out of his hair. She quickly started packing up her stuff, while my naked brother just lay there dripping and gawking at her with his mouth hanging open. She stomped away, tugging her modest one-piece swimsuit out of the crack of her perfect little ass, as she stumbled her way back up the beach toward the parking lot. She glanced back at Edward and huffed, haughtily tossing her nose into the air as she went. What a bitch!

Unfortunately for her, the little snob plowed right into a pole at the edge of a beach snow cone stand, knocking herself flat on her back, landing with a thud on the sand. She was out cold.

I had never seen my brother move so fast. He tossed his smeared glasses to me and was next to her in an instant, not seeming to remember that he was batter-up and two balls into a walk, or knowing his average, a strike-out.

_"Señor, esto no es una playa nudista! Vestirse inmediatamente o voy a llamar a la policía!"_ the guy in the stand yelled at Edward in Spanish.

"Dude, there's a chick here who's hit her head. What's wrong with you?" I yelled back at him. "Make yourself useful and call somebody for help!"

I finally got Edward to let go of the girl's hand and get his shorts back on before we were hauled in. All the while, the girls who had been laughing earlier now shamelessly ogled his impressive man-plow, not to mention a few of the guys. Yeah, bitches, us Cullen's were hung.

The little brunette was coming around and had started muttering something about Edward having an extraordinarily large market share in something or other, and then she started babbling about penetration pricing. If I didn't know better, I would have though she was talking about buying a hooker, but she was obviously spouting marketing terminology. She suddenly moaned, "Uhmm…great segment expansion strategy…" and I thought my brother would lose it, as his eyes popped wide, and he reached up, pushing her hair gently away from her face.

I got a closer look at her, and she looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place her. The emergency people quickly came down the beach and shuffled her into an ambulance, while I stood there holding on to my brother, watching them go. I could tell he wanted to go after them, but he was suddenly surrounded by more titties than a Hollywood plastic surgeon, all vying to get his attention.

"Damn, Edward, what was that all about?" I asked him over a redhead, who was trying to push her cleavage into his face.

"I don't know…she just…I don't know," he babbled as he stood there dumbfounded.

By the way he'd reacted to her, I worried our Prince Charmless might believe he'd just met his dream girl in that Snoberella. I was glad she had been taken off, though. My brother deserved a nice girl, not some stuck-up little snot like her. Thankfully, she didn't leave behind a glass slipper, or anything else to help him find her again.


	2. Chapter 2

**SM owns all that is Twilight, I just like to make her characters do naughty things…**

**Chapter 2: ****Bella's Views on Strategic Marketing to Your Target Audience**

"_Smelly Belly, Smelly Belly, rolls of fat that shake like jelly!"_

I could hear them giggling, taunting me again. I sat straight up, grabbing my head. I hated that damn dream, or rather memory. Kids were cruel little cretins, and they were especially cruel to fat kids. I should know. I had been said fat kid.

My head hurt, and I slowly opened my eyes to see I was in a hospital bed, a thin curtain surrounding where I lay. It took me a minute to remember where the hell I was and how I had gotten here.

The beach…hot naked guy…pole…ouch.

Oh, yeah. Shit.

"…_Arado a la derecha en un poste, y luego bam, cayó justo en el culo!_" I heard a high-pitched female voice chattering in Spanish, followed by snickering. They were making fun of me for having hit my head and falling on my ass. Some nurses they were. Where was the compassion here? I was certain they had no idea I was fluent in Spanish and could understand every nasty damn thing they were saying. This would be fun.

"_Enfermera, ¿puedo tomar una taza de agua, por favor, y un poco de ayuda al baño?"_ I called out to them.

Silence.

That was what I thought.

The nurses came around the curtain, sheepish smiles on their faces. "You need toilet?" one asked me in broken English, while the other looked like she was trying to keep from giggling, as she was checking the bandage on my forehead.

"_Si, por favor_. Yes, please," I said nodding with a raised brow.

I sat up, apparently a little too quickly, because I swayed before plopping back down. How hard had I hit my head, anyway?

"_Cuidado, Señorita, vaya despacio,"_ the first nurse cautioned, helping me to sit up slower.

Once the room stopped spinning, she helped me to the bathroom, and I sat on the toilet, cursing myself for being so stupid. I had worked my ass off to lose my clumsiness, along with my fat ass, and in a moment of idiocy, I had wiped away all traces of my efforts. Cute guys tended to tongue-tie me, though, and the one who had rolled into me on the beach was no exception. Having his junk in my face didn't help anything, either. But it wasn't like I hadn't seen it all before. I did grow up around boys who thought nothing of dropping their clothes at a moment's notice to go skinny dipping. The La Push guys made Mr. Sand Shovel's dick look like a toothpick. Still, there was just something about him…

I was finally released that evening, with instructions to stay out of the sun and rest for the next twenty-four hours, so that was what I did, albeit begrudgingly. I'd come to freaking Cancun to get some sun and sightsee, before I started my new position, and this was cutting into that. I hadn't been on a real vacation in years, since I'd gone with my parents to Florida, before I had started college. I was very much overdue.

I'd been stressed about my interview with one of the biggest advertising agencies in Dallas, but I'd brushed up on my interviewing skills, gotten everything waxed just so I felt confident, put on my red power suit with my black patent stilettos, and then I'd aced it. I really looked forward to working with my new boss, too. He seemed very nice and funny, something I appreciated in an employer. He even encouraged me to take this trip before starting my job, saying I had earned a break before real life took hold, assuring me that his sons had done the same thing.

In fact, according to Mr. Cullen, they were supposed to be here in Cancun somewhere. That would have been funny if I were to run into them, not that I would recognize them. But judging from how handsome their father was, I would have bet they were pretty hot, and nice. I would also bet they were nothing like those two yahoos on the beach. The big one was obviously full of himself, not to mention a mischief, and the naked one, well, he was cute, but what decent guy would lie out on a public beach in the nude, even with a stupid hat covering his package? That guy was obviously as bad as his buddy, probably a lot like the guys I had dated in college.

I hadn't dated at all during high school, because I would have had to actually been able to speak to a guy without fainting from nerves. I spent most of my time hiding in the library. I'd gotten a little better in college and had been on a few dates, mostly blind ones with guys my best friend and roommate, Rosalie, had set me up with. They were mostly friends of whatever guy she had just started dating and didn't want to go out alone with yet. Unfortunately, those guys usually seemed to think that just because I was obviously "desperate" enough to go on a blind date, I would be desperate enough for a one-night stand, too. Not so much. Yeah, I was still clutching my V-card like a kid with a banana in a room full of monkeys. It was a good thing I had learned some self-defense moves, because a couple of them hadn't wanted to take fuck off for an answer.

I actually was attracted to quiet, nerdy types like myself, but I hadn't found one yet who liked me back. I guess I intimidated them or something. Go figure. So as of now, I had a pretty low view of men in general. That guy on the beach was lucky I had just walked off, instead of relocating his junk to up between his eyeballs with my foot.

I spent my last day in Cancun trying to make up for lost time, taking in a tour of some Mayan ruins and sightseeing as much as possible, while trying not to get too bad of a sunburn on my sensitive, pale skin. Rose was going to be so jealous of the little bit of tan I had managed to acquire. She had wanted to come with me, but her boss from hell wouldn't let her off, even for the Memorial Day holiday, so she was stuck back in Dallas, working for Mr. McHandsy King. He thought he was royalty, and he was royal alright, a royal douchebag, and I had told Rose more than once that she needed to file sexual harassment charges against the guy. She refused, though, reminding me it would be her word against his, since the guy was smart enough to do his slimy deeds only when no one else was watching. I offered to help her bury the body whenever she got enough of him.

The flight home to Dallas wasn't long, and I made it back to the house Rose and I shared before midnight. I walked in to see Rose sprawled out on the couch in her pajamas, her top hiked up over one boob, her hand down her bottoms and drool dripping from her chin. Al Bundy would have been proud. For half a second, I debated just covering her up with the couch throw and leaving her be.

Nah.

I whipped out my phone and snapped a few pictures, making sure to capture close-ups of the drool, boob flash and crotch grope. I was sure she wouldn't want me to miss those. Besides, what were friends for, if not to whip out such pictures at just the right moment? Trust me, she knew this all too well and had it coming in return.

I'd warned her that paybacks were hell.

The last flash, or my giggling, must have penetrated her subconscious enough to cause her to stir. Her eyes fluttered open to see me standing there with phone in hand. I snapped one more picture of her, before I took off running.

"Bella! I'm gonna kill you!" she shouted at me, before she lurched off the couch in hot pursuit.

"I warned you, Rose!" I squealed, as I skidded into my bedroom and slammed the door, locking it behind me. I only had a few seconds to scoot the dresser over before she picked the lock and would be on top of me. I quickly emailed myself the pictures, all while leaning as hard against my dresser as possible to delay her assault.

"I'm serious, Bella, you're dead meat when I get my hands on you! Erase those pictures!" she growled through the door, still trying to shove it open behind my dresser.

"Too late, Rosalita, they're safely stored on my Google Plus. Maybe if you're a good girl, I'll have them blown up for Sam."

It was suddenly quiet, and then I heard Rose's bedroom door slam. I waited a minute to make sure she wasn't faking me out, which she had been known to do. When I had determined she wasn't about to pull some ninja move on me and beat my ass, I shoved my dresser over and peeked out my door. From down the hall, I could hear Rose crying. I made my way out of my room, stopping outside of hers.

"Rose?" I asked quietly through her door, but she didn't answer. "Rosie, are you okay?" I asked again, and her crying turned into sobs. "Hey, if it upsets you that much, I'll erase the pictures, promise."

Her door opened with a jerk, and she fell into my arms, loud sobs wracking her body.

"Hey, seriously, I'll erase them…"

"Sam's cheating on me with his secretary, Leah!" she wailed.

"What? Are you sure?" I asked, totally shocked.

"Oh, I'm pretty damn sure alright," she spat, wiping her snotty, tear-stained face on her pajama sleeve. "We were supposed to have a date tonight, but that never happened. I ran over to his office just before lunchtime, because I'd left my cell phone in his car on accident the evening before. His secretary wasn't at her desk, so I just walked into his office, and there he was, pounding into her as she bent over his desk, the phone still in her hand as she answered a call!"

"Oh, crap, Rose, that's horrible!"

"That's not the worst of it. Another woman came in right behind me and started screaming at him, too. Apparently, he has a wife. Her name is Emily, and she just always happened to be conveniently gone on business every time he asked me out. I had no idea, Bella. I feel so dirty. I'd never knowingly mess around with a married man!" She was still crying, but now she looked livid. "Men are such nasty dogs! I totally fell for his smooth-talking bullshit and good looks, but that's not happening ever again. I'll be damned before I let another man make an ass of me again. No more cocky bastards who think they're God's gift to women for me!"

"Damn straight, Sister. You're better than that. You deserve a man who's going to treat you like a princess, and then make you his queen."

Rose nodded, but then she started sobbing again. Given that I was due to start my period in a couple of days, I knew Rose was, too, which I was sure wasn't helping her mood right now. I pulled her to the kitchen and fished out a couple of pints of the only men we wanted anything to do with right now, Ben and Jerry. I usually tried to avoid doing this, because Ben was rather fond of my thighs, while Jerry was a total ass man, both of them good and rich, they satisfied me, and they were happy to be with me until I bid them a warm goodbye via the gym.

It was sad that this was more than I could say for the real men Rose and I had dated in our lives.


End file.
